Archive for September, 2015|Monthly archive page

Recently I read something that reminded me that I need to be a little more open on my blog. I tend to filter a lot of things, because .. well… I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to hurt people, and at times I don’t want to hurt myself. But today I decided to start writing this blog entry that will pull back the curtains for a view into a part of me that I tend to keep tucked away.

Years ago I was married to a man who was really abusive. It was because of this marriage, that I was able to find my strength to walk away much quicker from the relationship that birthed this blog. For the sake of this blog, I will call him David.

When I met David I was seeing someone. I immediately marked him off as a friend since I was very loyal to my relationship despite the fact my significant other lived in New Zealand at the time. David and I talked over the phone a few times, and I was really taken in by his charisma, humor and charm. When Mike and I broke up, this new friend and I had already lost touch and I really had no intention of ever contacting him again. Mostly because I really put off by how he liked to say incredibly hurtful things in the name of “teasing” or joking around. I’m not an easy person to offend, but I am human, and I don’t like being made fun of. I don’t think anyone really does.

Some time had passed before I got a phone message on my machine. David had called to apologize for the things he said to me months earlier. He said he didn’t expect me to talk to him again, but really wanted to reach out and let me know he was sorry. I was touched that he thought enough about me to realize that what he did was pretty hurtful, so I called him and immediately we started talking almost every day. Eventually we started going on dates and hanging out together. For the most part I was a bit smitten, but I was still pretty apprehensive in some ways. From time to time he would say hurtful things in the name of joking around, and often I was the brunt of his jokes in public so he could generate laughs from others. It felt less like a team, and more like I was the last chosen team-mate for a game of verbal dodge ball.

Looking back, I don’t know why I let it roll off of me. I guess I internalized it all and put it on myself. Instead of feeling safe to say something about it, I wrote it off as me being too sensitive about shit. I am not going to go on some rant about being female, but it’s a true thing to say that many women are taught to just smile and be accepting, even when it hurts.

I was raised primarily by my Grandmother so being outspoken isn’t something we were encouraged to do. She was pretty old school and we were taught to that women had a role to recognize as being under the head of the household. Men will be men, and women should always expect that. I know my Grandmother didn’t mean harm; she really wanted to teach us the best she could. But that lesson served me terribly growing up. Finding my voice for myself took years to do, but I learned to hear myself in being a voice for others. Through my advocacy for others, I could hear myself telling myself to stand up and rise above as well.

I remember the first time David hit me. I was pregnant with our first child together. He hit me across the face and the force backed by his strength behind that one blow, sent me to the floor. I remember being numb, unable to feel my face and really scared that falling had somehow hurt the baby. Looking back, I should have run. I should have run as fast as I could after I was able to stand up. I should have changed my number, moved away and never looked back. But I didn’t. Instead I did what I knew how to do best, and what so many of us do.. I blamed myself. I thought it was my fault. That maybe I spoke to sharply, maybe I if I had been more patient with him and more understanding of how scared he was to find out he was gong to be a father.. all those lame ass excuses that sound so weak to me today, were so damn powerful then.

I wasn’t in love with David. Even if I had been, thoughts of love were supressed by my hurt from being hit, and my sense of duty and guilt to make things work for the sake of our unborn child. At first he seemed like he wanted to work things out and seemed to take a holiday from his abrasive nature. At one point, he found God and wanted to try to be a Christian man. I thought I could at least live through it in some sort of quiet way despite my increasing unhappiness and depression taking hold. I stopped talking to people, family and friends. I spent a lot of time standing behind him in public and over time started becoming the brunt of his jokes again. Over time I slowly started to just “be”. The quick witted sharp remarks that served as stabs to my self worth were only increasing with time, and before too long I was often the subject of his verbal attacks. By the end of it all I had been called a bitch more times than he ever used my name, and it was an unusual day if he didn’t insult me in someway. You could hear a pin drop when he walked through the door after work, and I would wonder what part of me would be under his scrutiny that day. It was a shitty way to live, even though I had started to believe I deserved it all.

I started to sleep on the couch a lot and we stopped sharing a room. Sexual contact was rare, and when we did have it I seemed to get pregnant. I was pregnant with our second child together before too long, and in spirit of keeping this blog focused, you can read about the pregnancy with the twins here: https://lesbianspaghetti.wordpress.com/2013/07/21/3537/

The stress of carrying both a live child and a deceased one took me down to an even lower place in my life, and the less strong I became the more powerful his words seemed to be. By this time many arguments had taken their place in my mind. I had zero self-worth. The blame I carried around with myself for the first hit, the last argument, the death of my child were all burying me in a grave for those who were physically alive but emotionally dying.

Within 8 weeks of the birth of the twins we had a 10 minute excursion that led to the pregnancy of our youngest child together. Looking back I can’t even begin to wonder what the hell was going through my mind to still have any physical contact with him. My only thought is I was so deprived of any positive attention, even to myself, that any crumb of sexuality was someway to feed my need for something that made me feel alive.

We decided to marry during my pregnancy with our youngest. We married on the front lawn of our rental with a couple of witnesses who were his friends and I barely knew. I was 9 months pregnant, and the only thing missing to keep it from being a complete white trash wedding was the mullet and barefeet. I know.. I can hear it. “What the hell were you thinking, woman?” I have a shit load of reasons, and not a one of them make good sense now. The biggest being I needed medical insurance. The one clear memory of that day wasn’t what most brides look back on as one of the happiest days of their lives. Instead it was my witness finding me in the crying shortly after our three-minute ceremony. She thought it was pregnancy hormones, or being overcome with joy. When she asked me why I was crying, she was the first person I admitted to that I didn’t want to marry David. She just looked at me bewildered and asked me why I married him just moments before. I told her and I felt trapped in a bad situation, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt I had no options. I didn’t tell her the level of emotional and physical abuse I had been living under. Instead I dismissed it as a case of jitters when I saw she had no response to me, and tried not to talk about it with her agian. Our youngest child together was born three days later.

It wasn’t long after the birth when another moment of physical abuse took place. By that time I was I unable to recognize the woman looking back at me in the mirror. I had dark circles under my eyes, and I was my heaviest at 290. I avoided the bathroom mirror as much as I could and was thankful for the forgiving steam that clouded the reflections after I stepped out of the shower. When I wasn’t trying to avoid the reflection in the mirror, I spent a lot of time hiding in the bathroom just to cry and just be alone. There were times I thought my only out was to take my life, but the thought of leaving my children alone to defend themselves against him kept me from ever thinking this was the best option I had. Instead I resided myself to living a life I had come to believe I deserved. I believed made my bed, so I needed to sleep in it.

The disagreement we had was over a scripture in the bible. He asked me if I believed “once saved always saved” and I disagreed with his interpretation of what that meant. I can’t tell you exactly how the conversation went, but when we started talking it was in the hallway. The argument somehow led me being cornered into my daughters room. I was crying and he stood in the doorway, daring me to pass. I am sure the argument had something to do with him accusing me of disagreeing with him because I wanted to argue. The idea that I could have a vaid opinion about anything escaped him, and to be honest by that time it escaped me as well. I just recall standing there terrified to pass him, as he stoof there staring me in the eyes with the look of anger and disgust on his face. It seemed like 30 minutes or more had passed until my fear turned into the reality of the situation. I believed if I didn’t somehow get past him to get to a phone, I was going to die right there in my daughters room. My fear gave me the courage to rush past him as quick as I could, and I immediately ran to the phone and grabbed it to call the police. As he struggled with me, he pinned me to the floor while trying to grab the phone away from my hands. Somehow I was able to dial 911 before he could, and I screamed for help. I will not forget the feeling of his hands forcibly pushing my shoulders down to the ground, and how helpless I felt in that moment. I don’t recall the exact series of events in that moment, just small flashes of how I felt. I remember the police coming to the house, I remember the marks on my chest, and I remember being so scared that I was going to die that day. Something inside me was shaken enough to dig through the numb, and make me realize that if I didn’t somehow get out, my physical self would eventually catch up with my emotional self and I would become another statistic. I was starting to wake up enough to feel and the feeling was fear that led to my primal need to survive.

I started to secretly look for a new rental for the children and I. I finally found a place after a month of looking and one day as he was walking through the front door, I was about to carry the last box out to the UHAUL. He sat on the hearth of the fireplace and just watched before he asked me if he would be allowed to come over and do laundry at my new place. My oldest son called him a bitch as we walked out of the house that had become nothing more than a shell of a home that was covered in holes he had punched into the walls that held residual sounds of all the arguments, the anguish and nothing but pain.

I wish I could say that day was the last of it all, but like so many women who went before me it wasn’t. There was a short period where we though counseling might be able to help, but it didn’t. I knew it was happening, but I was still seeing it through the eyes of a woman so torn down that I saw it with a weakened state of mind. It was shortly after a counselor spoke to me and told me that the abuse she witnessed from him during our counseling sessions led her to decide to stop counseling us as a couple, that I filed for divorce.

Our story doesn’t end there. During the course of our divorce his abuse turned to our children during visitations. I spent nearly 2 years trying to protect my children against a system that gave him more of a voice than our children ever had. The short end of the story is after voluntarily submitting to a polygraph that he failed, he confessed his crimes agaisnt our children. He is currently serving almost 13 years in prison for these crimes.

I have spent years trying to hide the reality of the abuse I went through in that relationship. It’s not something I am proud of, and it’s not something I really enjoy talking about. I still struggle with the embarassment I feel when I share my story. I can’t get past the feeling I am being judged as a weak person as I share our story, and often it scares me to share with anyone who even considers being a part of our lives. It’s a very vulnerable and hard room to open, but it’s something I know I need to do. Not just because there is power in being open, but because there is also healing.

You might wonder why I am sharing all of this now after years of just talking about my life as it’s happening, rather than reflecting back on the past. Recently I realized that in hiding something that took place, I was in fact giving this part of my past power to keep me shamed. It’s something I have hidden away, dealing with in private. I went to counseling to deal with it, I made friends who never knew about it, and I resumed my life the best I could having changed because of it. I’ve been afraid of people judging me as a weak character, and a push over. I didn’t want people to see what I saw as a failure, for fear they would never be able to see the woman who emerged. I guess I never wanted people to truly know how bad it was, and how I had allowed someone to pull me down so far in the name of them gaining power.

It’s because of my time with David that I was able to find my voice and strength to walk away from the relationship I had with the woman who inspired this blog. I had walked that road before, and I knew that I couldn’t.. wouldn’t… allow it to happen again. My life long dream had been to find someone who made me feel safe, put their arm around me and I knew I could count on to be there. Once I realized she wasn’t it, and the hands I had hoped would hold me had became the very weapons her words had, I knew I needed to leave.

There is a level of embarrassment that comes with talking openly about all of this. Somewhere deep inside of me I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I don’t know if the shame I connect with it will ever truly wash away the more I share openly about that time in my life. Hopefully it will, but I hope a part of me never forgets what it felt like to sit in the bathroom while I cried in fear and pain after being told I had no value to live because it keeps me so thankful for the kind touches, the soft spoken words and the reassuring hugs. It brings a deep appreciation for the hands and words that catch me, rather than pushing me over. It might seem like a pretty small victory to some, but I can say I haven’t walked into a bathroom to hide my hurt in years. Instead I have found the power in talking things over and while it still takes me a fair amount of courage to, it is something that I stand proud about being able to do. Maybe no one else will appreciate that empowering moment as much as I do, but it’s something that reminds me how far I have come in learning to stand still when it’s so much easier to hide.

I don’t expect everyone to understand, sympathize or even empathize. That isn’t what this blog entry is about. I guess my hope is that the more I speak, the less shame will have a chance to thrive. My hope is that through being open and transparent, I will find the ability to be as kind to myself as I long for others to be. Sometimes we have to love ourselves unconditionally in order to open it up so that others might have the chance to as well.

Lyrics:
Oh no, did I get too close?
Oh, did I almost see what’s really on the inside?
All your insecurities
All the dirty laundry
Never made me blink one time

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
There is no fear now
Let go and just be free
I will love you unconditionally

Come just as you are to me
Don’t need apologies
Know that you are worthy
I’ll take your bad days with your good
Walk through the storm I would
I do it all because I love you, I love you

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
There is no fear now
Let go and just be free
I will love you unconditionally

So open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart and just let it begin
Open up your heart

Acceptance is the key to be
To be truly free
Will you do the same for me?

Unconditional, unconditionally
I will love you unconditionally
And there is no fear now
Let go and just be free
‘Cause I will love you unconditionally (oh yeah)
I will love you (unconditionally)
I will love you
I will love you unconditionally

Let’s face it, nothing sucks more when you end a relationship and the ex has a hard time letting go. I’m not talking about the typical phase of someone recovering from a broken relationship, but one of those phases that last way beyond a healthy time period. While it’s not easy to watch someone hurting that you once cared about, it’s even worse when you know you are the cause of that pain. But to know that staying would hurt even worse in the long run, you leave with a sense of peace you did the right thing. That is what I did in the last relationship I had with a woman.

If I was completely honest, I was unhappy in the relationship long before I ended it. The countless arguments, the constant conversations in which she would tell me I wasn’t caring, loving, or attentive enough were damaging to my ability to feel engaged in the relationship. The arguments would circle around the belief that when she had a day off work or had nothing to do, that I should spend hours talking to her to fill up her time. They centered around my not praising her enough on Facebook, or wondering why my friends wouldn’t acknowledge her posts on my wall, or not writing enough about her either here or there. It got to a point I dreaded hearing the phone ring, opening my email, or looking at my Facebook page because I knew there would be a long message waiting for me filled with a description of yet another way in which I was letting her down. The constant way she made me feel inadequate as a partner while trying to shape me into her idea of the perfect partner, isn’t a way to live.

In fact, it really sucked.

There were two things going on in my life at the time I was dating her: I was realizing my attraction to women was pretty much zero, and my son was really sick. Even if my attraction to women wasn’t changing, I knew that separate from that, that based on her communications fundamentally she wasn’t someone I would want to spend my life. Especially how she handled things when Gabriel needed surgery. For the sake of giving an example of what communication was like, when she came to visit me while my son was in the hospital and she started crying at his beside just days after surgery. Not for him, but because she felt I wasn’t being attentive enough to her while my son was recovering from his surgery and believed me not to be as concerned about her emotional needs while I was almost too exhausted to take care of mine. I consoled her by trying to talk her down until she was calm enough to leave, but I knew at that exact moment that I needed to break up with her. That’s in addition to all the times she would text me to tell me that it pissed her off that I would share updates about his recovery progress from the hospital on Facebook before I would call her with those updates first. We’re not talking major changes; I’m talking changes that included heart rate, medication updates, and everything else that I wanted to share with those who were following his progress via Facebook. So while yes, I get that I was becoming distant based on my attractions changing, aside from it all her actions were a huge shove to not want to date her specifically. I can say this with confidence, because I was already expereincing these frustrations with her before I realized I no longer wanted to date women, and never would again.

For the record, I’m not trying to share this with intent to hurt anyone. I am just trying to show from my perspective how emotionally shitty things were at times to give insight to what I’m talking about here.

Forward to present time: I had written recently how she asked me for some space because she was still in love with me, and I could tell it hurt her to see I am dating someone seriously. I respected her request, deleted her from social media, and didn’t contact her. Then on the 11th I get a text in which she says she was hurt that I hadn’t contacted her to ask how she’s doing. I responded that I was just respecting her space but true to form, that wasn’t enough. She went off how she was fighting to keep me in her life, and how I was happy to not be friends with her. Mind you these are all accusations, not based on anything I have actually said but at this point it carries a lot of truth. One thing I have learned, is that she (and most people who thrive off as conflict if that is the only attention they can get) is that she reads all my texts in one tone: pissy. It got to the point I would even write a disclaimer in my responses that the tone wasn’t angry, or upset. Yet it never seemed to help because the accusations kept coming at me. Now I realize that wasn’t anything I did, and it’s all on her. It’s something I have realized that people who are emotionally manipulative use to pull you back into conversation that they control.

It’s been a very considerate amount of time since I broke things off with her; years at this point. Since that time our communication has looked a lot like this: “I love you”, “I understand you don’t feel the same”, “I won’t bring it up again”, things are great and we can talk as friends, she then sees something on my social media that upsets her, “I love you”, “I understand you don’t feel the same”,” I won’t bring it up again”, things are great and we can talk as friends, she then sees something on my social media…….. It’s an exhausting cycle, and frankly it’s just another way of making me feel like shit because she feels like shit.

The thing that is different this time from all the previous cycles she has tried to guilt me into, is that I jumped off and I’ve mentally flipped her off as I’m walking away. Harsh? I am sure it sounds that way. But after nearly two years of being guilted into listening to her pain, I have only come to the conclusion that I can not help her in any way and she needs help beyond what I could ever offer as a friend. Obviously years of pent-up abandonment issues were being spent on me, and while I get we all have a past, I can’t spend my time healing hers. So when I received a text a couple of days ago that she was so physically upset with me that she had to leave work because it made her sick to her stomach, I just stopped all communication completely. She had hit a new tactic, and I was not about to give it life.

I know this is a trap we have all fallen into at one time or another. The dynamics might be different in that they might be less or, forbid, more intensive. You fall into it because you really did care for this person at one time, and like I said before when you cared for someone at one time it sucks to watch them hurt. At some point you hit the floor of realization that this is bigger than you, and while you might have been a small part of why they are hurting, there are way bigger issues at play here. You can’t take full responsibility that they’re stuck in their grief; you can’t complete a puzzle with one fragmented piece. Besides, it’s not my job to complete her healing when it was obvious I wasn’t even able to complete her happiness on a basic level as a friend.

Plus, if I hear one more time “I guess I’m happy that this (meaning realizing I’m not attracted to women any longer) happened now instead of further down the road” I would probably fly off the verbal rail. I mean, ya know.. if it helps her cope and focus on believing that this was all on me, so be it. I hope she runs a fucking marathon with it. But it’s still a crappy thing to keep repeating, because I don’t think I ever told her that her fragile mental state was something I was happy to learn about so early on, instead of years down the road. It’s just not something that sounds appropriate to say to someone you claim to want to stay as a friend in your life. That isn’t something that I would ever consider saying to any of my friends.

The reality is, I don’t think she wants me as a friend. She wants me as a possibility. I don’t think any of her actions have been extended as a friend, but more as an active hope that she would still be able to claim some portion of my life as hers, and I don’t want that on me. When I decided to open myself up to meeting someone special, I knew that meant knowing I have no past hanging onto me. We all have a past, and some have a difficult time leaving it there. I didn’t want to be that person, and I didn’t want parts of it hanging onto me in way that takes from space I have for someone else. When you have an ex that calls you and puts you through this cycle constantly, it does take from you. While dating I have expected that the others putting themselves out there have made resolutions with their past, so why should it be different with me? It shouldn’t be. I have made resolutions with my past. I have no hang ups or unresolved emotional crap from past relationships, so I can’t allow her to suck me into hers. Because by proxy, she is trying to sabotage any possibility I have anywhere else.

I won’t allow her to suck me into hers.

She says she stopped reading my blog so I’m not writing in hopes she will read this and see some passive message to get to her. I truly hope she has stopped reading my stuff, because it allows me to feel more liberated to stick to my intent for this blog; to share my journey unadulterared. If she hasn’t I suspect this will provoke another email or text message that will include some horrible message that would just leave me feeling like a horrible person. Neither of which I will see. because I have blocked her from all venues of engaging with me. Emails go to spam, text messages float into the air, I’ve blocked on FB so now her healing solely rests in her responsibility. I am sure there are people who will think this is a crappy thing to do, but when grief becomes abusive it only becomes a brick tied around the feet of those it touches. Or maybe she will read this, realize I have a point of view, and take some responsibility for her actions so it doesn’t touch others she may become involved with. That would be a good thing, because I would like her to find her happiness with someone someday.

Any possibility of friendship between her and myself has been completely exhausted. I think I have done all I can, and more than I should have. I wouldn’t have spent this much time lettting someone verbally manipulate me had I not felt some sense of responsibility. Not that I believe I was awful to her and I was somehow making up for it, but I knew my situation was exceptional in that I broke up with her and there were bigger dynamics going on in my reasons. But I walk away even more confident in my choices and a heck of a lot stronger for the brusing.

As most parents with teens at home will tell you, it’s not often you hear something nice about yourself. Usually you hear all the bad things, the shortcomings, the ways you are screwing it up; followed with a list of wishes, wants and needs. Rarely will you hear a compliment that reminds you that you are more than just a person who is around to make sure they don’t somehow cause mass consumption destruction to contents of the fridge, and washes their socks.

It was no great surprise I was having a really bad day when I was immiediately woken with the demands and requests of said teenagers, and feeling void of my birth identity. You know, that one where I have an acutal name.

I had to stop and get gas for the car, when I pulled up and heard the attendant say “beautiful”. I thought perhaps he was commenting on the blaring music I had going, which was Ray Lamontagne. As I turned down the music, I asked him “The music? Oh yeah.. it’s Ray Lamontagne.” He said “No, you. Beautiful…” I was really embarrassed, because as much as my heart loves to hear something nice, I really so suck at taking a compliment.

Immediately my eyes began to swell, because in the mist of a very shitty and demanding morning it was so nice to hear something that wasn’t about what I could do for someone, but was meant as a direct compliment without expectation. It took me by surprise, and that is where my tears came from. Here I was, just pulling in for some gas, and I was leaving with my spiritt touched by a simple word.

As the guy introduced himself to me, he reached out and poked my shoulder as he said “You need to find a guy who tells you that every day.” But as I thought about what he said, I think he got it all wrong. It’s easy for anyone to tell you that you are beaitiful, but it’s a lot different when they make you feel beautiful.

I’ve had people tell me things they think I want to hear. It’s a bit of a drawback of having this blog when trying to meet people. Because I’ve written about my romantic hopes and dreams, It puts having a relationship at a bit of a disadvantage in some ways. I never know if they are just saying what they think I want to hear based upon an entry. It leaves you wondering the validity of words, in the absence of feeling. Words can be tossed around, used and manipulate. Someone could tell me I was beautiful every day, but it’s not the same as being able to make me feel beautuful.

You would think as a writer, that words would be the natural expression I would prefer. I guess I’ve hidden behind the written word so long, that I fear my awkwardness when I vocalize how I feel. I fear soundling like an ass, or even too syrupy. Like I am somehow stripping down my emotions, throwing them on the floor in a moment of verbal passion, and exposing them in ways that make me feel so emotionally naked. That’s not an easy place for a writer to be. In fact, it’s torment. Even writing about it is a scary thought, but at the same time so liberating in that way freedom comes from having been oppressed by the very hands that connect to the emotions they are capable of relating. Because of the fear, I have always preferred touch for expression. It’s also a pretty intimate thing to share with someone. There are differnet touches we share with people around us, but there’s something about touch between lovers that just provoke things that words can’t seem to touch themselves.It’s a beautiful place to be.

Thinking on his words, I think it was pretty sweet that someone took the time to generously share words that day. It was something my heart obviously needed to hear at that moment, and It’s great to be told nice things about ourselves without motivation or manipulation. I happen to be lucky enough that there is someone who makes me feelbeautiful when he puts his arm around me, holds my hand, smiles, kisses me, or calls to tell me Goodnight. Those are all far above having someone who would tell me I was beautiful every single day, and I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for a thousand compliments from random people.

Yesterday I received an email. My ex has decided to “take a break” from our friendship. Which is fine… she needs to do what she needs to do for herself, much in the same way coming out of the heterosexual closet was something I needed to do for myself.

Fact is, I am not sure I was ever in any real distinctive closet to begin with. The more time passes, the more I realize I was dodging love in the name of seeking it, and dating women was about as empty as dating men previously was. It wasn’t gender specific. It was emotionally empty specific. That isn’t to say I didn’t care about anyone I have ever dated, because I did care about them as people. I just wasn’t ready to open up to someone and let them into those spaces that I was so careful to avoid.

But then I met him, and it sort of feels like I had no apprehensions to begin with. I have zero clue where it’s going, and honestly I am just taking it in as it comes, but it’s nice to be with someone that I hope I am still dating years from now. His smile makes me happy. It makes the fact I even ever dated women even that much more foreign to me, and sometimes it makes identifying with anything I wrote in the first year of this blog seem like it was written by the hands of a different person completely.

While that means some people may hurt because of this, and that doesn’t make me feel good to know that people hurt because of me, the fact I can’t relate to so much of who I was just two years ago is a really good thing.

My daughter Sarah was married yesterday. It was magical, sad and exhillerating to see her so happy to make a bold statement to everyone around her, that she was committing her life to share hers with his. I cried of course. As horrifed as I was to see a bee looing around the wedding party, I was somewhat thankful it distracted me at the same time. Until I saw a spider crawling up her dress during hte ceremony. The bee, I knew they could handle. The spider, not so much. Sarah is terrified of spiders. I felt awful for juping up and knocking it off of her dress in the middle of the ceremony, but it felt like my last brave act to protect her as her mother.

I watched as my daughter laughed and smiled at the man who is now her husband. It made my heart hopeful and happy that she has someone in her life that makes her that happy. That makes her laugh, and loves her. I know he loves her; it’s easy to see when I watch the two of them together, and that makes me feel so good to know. I want her to be deliriously happy for as many days as she possibly can in life. Even in a world she is forced to share with spiders.

I’m a Portland Oregonian. I think the sun is an urban legend, and I’m learning how to survive the loss of my marriage. Wait, let me rephrase that: I’m surviving the loss of my marriage. You can contact me at: lesbian_spaghetti@yahoo.com Advertisements